


All is Bright

by Flames_and_Jade



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Christmas Carols, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Music, Christmas Tree, Family Gatherings, Fluff, M/M, airplanes are the worst, excited!Pete, grumpy!Patrick, traveling at christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 18:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17146820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade
Summary: Just a few peeks into some FUTCT-era Christmas-ing...buying a tree, flying home, Christmas dinner, and Patrick’s (supposed!) hatred of Christmas Carols.





	All is Bright

**Author's Note:**

> So I didn’t think I’d be able to write anything for Merry Little Peterick this year as I was out of the country until about a day ago! But the stars aligned and this happened as I baked Christmas Cookies. If you didn’t know, apparently you’re not supposed to bake two sheets on separate trays at different levels in the oven at the same time...it messes up the airflow -___- So in the end, have eight cookies and this little bit of nonsense. 
> 
> Go read all the rest of the amazing works! They’re lightyears better than this nonsense...but I coulnd’t stay away. Here’s to the New Year and having time to write again!!

 

 

 

 

“Wait, why do _you_ get the window seat this time?” Patrick glared at Pete as he sat down in the obnoxiously tiny seat on their obnoxiously large plane. “You had it last time.”

 

“Yeah, but this way I can close the window it and try to sleep.” Pete was looking at him like he was a total idiot and Patrick did _not_ think that was a fair representation of the brains behind their band _at all_.

 

“ _I_ get the window seat.” Patrick pushed into the row so he was out of the way of the people behind him who were _not_ understanding why this was a relationship hill to die on. “Look, my _ticket_ even says it—19A.” He pointed at the little placard above his head that he knew Pete couldn’t see but that was still supporting his cause. “That’s 19A. You’re in 19B.” He pointed at the seat he was currently standing in front of, in case Pete was in any way confused.

 

“But flying freaks me out! You know that!” Pete’s expression had changed to one that would have been more appropriate if Patrick had been arguing about which of their imaginary children to sacrifice. “It helps if I can fall asleep!”

 

“Well, _I_ want to look out the window when we land in Chicago, and you had the window seat last time! You’re just going to end up drooling on my shoulder anyways, so—“

 

“Excuse me, sir? Do you need help putting up your bag?” A kind-looking stewardess in a Santa hat was giving him that ridiculously helpful smile that he was pretty sure they stamped on their face in flight attendant school.

 

“No, I—“ Something whispered out of his hand, and suddenly Pete was standing up and holding _Patrick’s_ ticket out to her like the world’s most innocent, unwitting traveler.

 

“This is my seat, right?  19A?” She looked at the paper and then nodded back with that twinkle in her eye that Patrick strongly suspected was chemically-created.

 

“That’s right, Mr. Stump. You’re in 19A, and Mr., ahh—“ She squinted at the ticket that Patrick was now holding _because his boyfriend was a traitorous sneak and had swapped them_ and gestured at the middle seat. “Mr. Wentz, you’re here in 19B. If you wouldn’t mind putting your backpack under the seat in front of you so there’s more space in the overhead bins, we’d so appreciate it.”

 

Patrick nodded mutely, wondering if he could somehow fashion a weapon out of what TSA had allowed him to bring on the plane and murder Pete for the wide smile of gratitude he gave the stewardess. Someday, he promised himself, he’d be famous if for no other reason then to not be mistaken for _Pete Wentz_ on a plane.

 

“I hate you.” He glared at Pete as he pulled the shade down over the window and pulled his feet up like a five year old.

 

“Federal Law dictates you have to comply with crew member instructions, _Mr. Wentz.”_ Pete grinned back, wide and full of teeth and Patrick just huffed as he pulled on his headphones and told himself there was no way Pete would cooperate and stay quiet if he tried to murder him.

 

Twenty minutes later and Pete was asleep on his shoulder. He’d twitch every time they hit a rough patch of air, hand tightening on Patrick’s forearm for a moment, and he let out a sigh. Fucking Pete Wentz.

 

~\\\~

 

Pulling out his earbuds, Pete grabbed the key from under the mat and unlocked the front door. He had woken with the weak winter sunlight and stared at the ceiling until the clock said 7:00am...and then decided maybe a run would help. He had slipped from Patrick’s side (who was _definitely_ drooling on his pillow) and gone out into the chill air, running until it no longer felt shitty and felt _good_.

 

Feeling more energized than if he had gotten a full night’s sleep, Pete kicked his shoes off and headed towards the bathroom, pulling sweaty clothes off as he went. A shower and a cup of coffee and he’d be ready to seize the day.

 

The bathroom door was, however, shut when he reached it. Blood stirred, rerouting from his pounding chest to _lower_ places as he contemplated getting in the shower with its current occupant. But just as he was about to open the door, hand poised over the doorknob…

 

“ _Silent night, holy night,_

_All is calm, all is bright,_

_Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child…”_

 

A grin crept along Pete’s lips as he listened. Patrick professed to _hate_ Christmas Carols...and yet here he was.

 

Sliding down the wall until he was seated comfortably on the ratty carpet, Pete closed his eyes and listened.

 

~//~

 

“Absolutely not.” Patrick folded his arms and glared. “We are _absolutely_ not doing that. We don’t even have a chain saw!”

 

Pete was looking at the picture on his phone of a huge tree, one half sawn off and mounted on the roof to make it look like the tree was going straight through. “Oh come on, I’m sure they’d cut it for us here—“

 

“Pete.” Patrick pinched the bridge of his nose like his mother used to when he was being annoying. It didn’t do anything. “May I remind you we live on the _first_ floor _._ Of an _apartment building._ The roof isn’t for three more stories!”

 

“Yeah, so it’ll look _really_ rad!” Pete’s grin was wide and Patrick wondered if pine needles would soak blood up or not.

 

“No. Let’s just get a good tree that can _fit through the door_ and then we can get lights for it and get inside. It’s freezing out here.” He looked at the employees who were bundled up as they cut the ends of the trees and ran the till...they were doing it right, unlike him in his denim jacket and hoodie. Pete sighed melodramatically as he slid his phone in to his pocket and nodded, eyeing the other side of the lot. His hand shot out to grab Patrick’s, and it was shockingly warm as he tucked them both into the pocket of his sweatshirt.

 

Patrick hid his smile in his collar as they headed towards the 5-6 foot Fraser Firs section.

 

~//~

 

His mother handed him a full plate of food and shooed him out of the kitchen like he was five all over again...and Patrick realized he didn’t really care. Stuffing the last of the jam thumbprint cookie into his mouth (his aunt had brought them, and they were surprisingly good for someone who had somehow messed up store-bought pie last year), he navigated around the little clusters of family that had popped up throughout the house.

 

“Patrick!” His favorite cousin rounded the corner as he entered the hallway leading to the family room, and he tried (successfully!) to give her a hug without dropping his food down her back.

 

“Sarah! When did you get here?” He asked as he pulled away and balanced his plate again. “I didn’t see you earlier, where’s Brian?”

 

“Oh we were _totally_ late.” She grinned, brushing the bangs of her pixie cut out of her eyes. “Traffic was ridiculous. _But!—“_ she punctuated the word with a finger held in the air. “I just met _Pete_. Dude, he’s amazing, why are you guys like not married yet?”

 

Blood rushed to his cheeks at the same time that warmth blossomed in his chest. Last Christmas his Great-Aunt had been...less than thrilled when he brought his newly-minted boyfriend of three months to the family gathering. The hurt in Pete’s eyes had made him long to smash something tender, but his mother had done what she did best—gently chastised Great Aunt Gertie while also diffusing the situation. This year, however, nobody had batted an eye when Pete showed up trying to not drop the ridiculous number of presents he’d bought for the various young cousins and grandchildren (Patrick strongly suspected over half had been purchased simply because Pete wanted to play with them too).

 

But Sarah’s unabashed acceptance made something unfurl under his heart as he shook his head with a smile. “Well, firstly it’s not legal in the state of Illinois yet, so…”

 

“Oh _fffftt.”_ She made a dismissive shooing motion with her hand. “Just come out to California. I’ll change one of the water bills to your name or something and you can use Brian and my address and it’ll work perfect!”

 

“Ummm…” He scuffed his foot as he imagined it—Pete in dark tux, eyes rimmed in coal and a gold band on his finger—but then pushed it away. “I’ll let you know if that’s a contender, but we’re good for now.”

 

“Mmmmhmmmm.” Sarah gave him a look and poked his shoulder. “He’s a keeper, though, you know that?”

 

“I do.” He couldn’t help the small smile that tweaked his lips at the admission, despite the fact that Pete had rigged a Christmas party popper to go off when Patrick opened the front door the day prior.

 

Nodding in smug satisfaction, Sarah started to say something else...but was pulled away by his mother’s delighted shriek as she saw her. He headed into the family room, spying Pete sitting on the couch by the fireplace. All sorts of ridiculous things popped into his head when he saw the way the firelight was playing on his face, the curve of his cheek and the line of his jaw.

 

“Hey.” He murmured as he sat down carefully. “You want a plate?”

 

Pete looked over and stole a piece of ham from him, munching it thoughtfully around a smile. “Yeah, I’ll go get one in a minute.”

 

“Careful...you’re not allowed to think too many big thoughts on Christmas. Makes it hard to sleep and then Santa won’t come.” It was a stupid, stupid line that even his youngest nephew would have rolled his eyes at…but Pete just nodded contemplatively and took a green bean.

 

“It’s...nice. To have something that matters.” He pursed his lips and gave Patrick a small smile. “To feel like you belong somewhere at Christmas.”

 

“Keep it up with the glitter bomb pranks and you’ll be homeless by New Year’s.” Patrick grumbled with absolutely no malice, and Pete snickered as he looked into the flames once again. But the word _belong_ rattled and rolled around Patrick’s head, and he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Pete’s cheek. “Love you, asshole.”

 

“Love you too, Tricky-doodle. Merry Christmas.” Pete grinned as he jumped off the couch and headed towards the kitchen...leaving Patrick to consider the stockings that hung over the mantle and wondering what next Christmas would bring.

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
